no worse for wear
by Sane-in-Insanity
Summary: Dean/Castiel — "Quite a grand slam you scored there, Dean."


_Note: End 'Verse._

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**no worse for wear**

"_Quite a grand slam you scored there, Dean."_

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It's almost three in the morning, and Dean is late.

Castiel lies on the bed—_Dean's _bed—and gently heats the glass pipe in his hand with a lighter. Wisps of vapor drift along the length and Castiel breathes in lightly. He tips his head back with a soft smile tugging at his lips, already starting to feel the familiar rush in his heart as it begins to pump loudly and rapidly in his chest with delight.

The front door clicks open and Dean walks in, clothes dishevelled and shoulders slumped. He doesn't notice Castiel until he shuts the door and tosses his jacket on the broken couch.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Dean grinds out, harsh and impatient. Castiel thinks he hears a nervous gulp from the Winchester, but that may be just the speed talking.

"About time," Castiel drawls, eyes half closed as they peer at Dean with minor interest. He takes another short hit before putting the pipe away. "I lost my gift of patience when I joined your sorry club of humanity."

Dean's gaze hardens and he approaches the bed in quick strides. In a flash, he swipes the glassware from the mattress and flings it across the room. The instrument shatters haphazardly against the wall and Castiel's expression darkens.

"That was my pipe you just smashed."

Dean whirls on him, almost snarling. "And this is _my _cabin you were smoking that filthy piece of crap in." He visibly forces himself to calm down and he looks away from Castiel. "M'gonna ask you again. Cas, what are you doing here?"

With a dawning smirk, Castiel stands up and pulls Dean's body against his. The Winchester doesn't protest when Castiel starts mouthing along the curve of his ear. "You know why," he murmurs. He can smell the faint feminine scent that is grotesquely out of place on Dean, and he almost wants to laugh. Of course, Castiel should've expected as much. Dean's unusual time of return is proof enough. He isn't surprised that Dean left before dawn; love 'em and leave 'em is known to be one of the Winchester ways. "Quite a grand slam you scored there, Dean."

Castiel starts to unbutton Dean's flannel shirt, kissing along the stubble on the man's jaw. With a grunt, Dean grips Castiel tight and they stumble onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and messy kisses.

"Not as _grand _as your creepy cult orgies, I bet," Dean hisses from on top, hooking his fingers through Castiel's belt loops and pulling down his pants in a clumsy effort.

Castiel kicks his jeans off impatiently and flips around to have Dean pinned against the bed instead. Their mouths mash heatedly, teeth colliding and lips bruising and tongues clashing. There is a loud gasp from Dean when Castiel bites down on his lip, breaking the skin.

"Who was it this time?" Castiel demands in between kisses, tugging closer. "Risa? Amy? Or some new girl you scooped up along the way back to camp?" Unexplained jealousy courses through him like hot poison as he rakes his fingers down Dean's chest, savage and possessive and leaving pink marks against smooth skin. A dismayed groan escapes Castiel when he realizes Dean is still clad in jeans. In a swift motion, he unzips the fly and yanks the waistband down to his feet, his boxers tugged along. "Did she do this—" Castiel takes Dean fully in his mouth, warm and wet, and the Winchester almost _whimpers_. If Castiel wasn't so intent on making Dean completely lose his mind, he would've congratulated himself for getting the almighty Dean Winchester into this helpless, submissive state. "Or this?" Castiel lays his tongue flat against the length of Dean's cock and rubs up and down, up and down.

"_Fuck_, Cas," Dean gnashes out from between clenched teeth. His hands hold Castiel firm against his crotch, demanding and hungry. "Don't stop—oh, oh, _shit_—I swear, if chicks ever learned to be half as good as you, I'd fuckin' die _happy_."

Grinning like a man who's just won the world's biggest trophy, Castiel glances up at Dean, feeling feverish and high as the sky. "In that case, you'll probably die slow and painful," he taunts, low and wicked. He pulls himself up to meet Dean at eye level, reveling at the look of his dilating green rings. "Until then, Dean Winchester, we better make the most of it."

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_For some reason, when I think of End-'Verse-Cas, I think of him as the more dominant one. It's strange, considering Dean is oh so alpha in everything he does. Regardless, I hope it works in my writing. Please don't favorite without leaving a review :)_


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